& the letters not written
& the words that didn’t find mouths
& the kindnesses not enacted
& the reconciliations not achieved
& the embraces not extended
& the drawings left unfinished on the counter
& the apologies not made
& the apologies not conceived
& the dreams not built into the rock
& the gardens gone to seed
& the collective sacrament of justice

And the gratitude that shined forth eagerly
And the hope that carried many days on its back
And the compassion that housed a stranger
And the spark that knew only one name

There is one who cuts into every dance.
Let it be us, the living,
who complete the lives of the dead.